darkdreamer | Moonlight, Chapter 7

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Got the latest chapter of Moonlight for you, hope you enjoy it :) Please let me know (comments are like candy :P)

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DoS

Title: Moonlight
Beta:

andi88
Pairing: none really, House/Wilson friendship, some House/Cuddy friendship
Rating: PG-13 to R in places
Warnings: violence, scary themes, disturbing subject matter
Summary: Following Amber's death, House is afraid that Wilson will never be able to forgive him -- but Wilson's real reaction is far more frigthtening and disturbing than he ever would have expected. Wilson wants to hold on to the only meaningful relationship left in his life -- by any means necessary.

Chapter 7

Cuddy wanted to just let it go.

She really did.

Somehow… she couldn’t.

She had no real reason to doubt that the details of House’s sudden disappearance were just as they appeared to be. Wilson had meant a lot to House – had been the one meaningful relationship in his emotionally isolated life – and it made sense that, when abandoned by Wilson, House might simply take off and start over somewhere else.

But… with his parents? I didn’t think he got along with them very well. I could see him just… disappearing completely, not letting anyone know where he was going at all… before I could see him leaving a flawless resignation letter and informing me before going back home to live with his parents again.

It almost makes… too much sense… or… the wrong kind of sense?… for House…

He’s not even here and he’s still confusing the hell out of me.

Cuddy knew that even if House hadn’t been completely honest with her, she should still simply let him be. If he wanted to disappear, well… that decision and the method he chose to do so were his business. A part of her was fairly certain that everything was probably all right. She would go to a lot of trouble to seek out House, only to find that he really did not want to be found, and all she would have accomplished would be to embarrass herself.

A much larger, more vocal part of her was screaming at her that something about this entire situation was just not right.

She considered calling House’s parents and confirming that he was there, but then considered the possibility that doing so would only serve to make them worry if by any chance House was not there, and to let House know that she had been needlessly worrying if he was.

She stopped by the post office on her lunch break and asked them to look up a forwarding address for House, but apparently, he had not left one.

And that… that is strange… because if House was willing to tell me and his team that he was going to be staying with his parents, why wouldn’t he have his mail forwarded there as well?

Not really sure what to do next, Cuddy found herself once more outside House’s now-vacant apartment. As her car slowed to a stop in House’s old parking spot, however, she noticed a flyer in the window, and parked the car and got out to take a look. It was a “for rent” notice with the name and number of the landlord.

Maggie Morrison… it’s a long shot, but maybe she knows something…

She dialed the number as she made her way back to her car, waiting through several rings before a woman’s voice answered. Cuddy immediately felt a little foolish and awkward about her strange request, but did her best to explain to the woman who she was and what were her concerns, although she was already fairly certain that the woman would be reluctant to give out much information.

“I just… want to make sure he’s all right. Did he say anything to you about where he was going… or why?”

“There’s not a lot I could tell you if I did know,” the woman admitted, though she did not sound completely unsympathetic. “But I really don’t know anything about all that. I didn’t even see him before he left. He just left a message on my phone that he was leaving, and that he’d left a check for the last month’s rent in the apartment. I went by to get it and all his stuff was already gone. I’m really sorry I can’t help you, honey.”

“That’s all right. Thank you anyway.”

Cuddy’s voice was distracted as she closed her phone, staring through the windshield of her car. A worried frown creased her brow as she sat there trying to decide whether this sort of behavior was just like House… or not like him at all. A case could easily be made for either side.

And to complicate matters – House hadn’t exactly been himself lately.

He’s been through hell these past few months… blaming himself for Amber’s death… and then when Wilson decided to leave, too… it could have pushed him over the edge, made him make choices he wouldn’t have otherwise made. At any rate, he can’t possibly have been in a healthy state of mind when he left his apartment, so suddenly. Losing Wilson must have been devastating… and I wouldn’t be surprised if it made him decide to do something stupid…

Ghastly images suddenly filled her mind of House, blood pouring from his slashed wrists – lying half-conscious in his car as it slowly filled with deadly carbon monoxide – falling to his death from the roof of a large building. A chill ran down her spine as she was suddenly very sure – disguising his death by faking his own disappearance was definitely something House might do, if pushed to a point of despair where he really wanted to take his own life.

The very thought of what House might have done to himself was more than Cuddy could bear, and she desperately tried – and failed – to put it out of her mind as she made her way back to the hospital in momentary defeat.

Please, House… please… please be okay…

**************************

With each day that passed, House was more certain than ever that he had to find a way to make his move – and he had to do it soon.

He was becoming entirely too comfortable with the strange little routine to which Wilson had confined him.

He had kept careful track of the time that passed, and knew that it had been nearly a week since Wilson had lured him into the tiny remade panic room that had become his prison. He was restless and bored and going more than a little stir crazy; but once House had made an effort to appear to be complying with Wilson’s wishes, Wilson had done his best to make sure that House was as comfortable as possible.

Every day while he was at work, he left the remote control within House’s reach, and left House one free hand with which to operate it. He also left a generous stack of books and magazines where House could reach them, which he added to almost every day. After that one horrible day during which Wilson seemed to believe he had made his point, he made sure that House had plenty of Vicodin and good food to eat. Wilson spent most of his non-working hours in the room with House, keeping him company.

What scared House was how much he was beginning to look forward to those lengthy visits.

Now that House was feigning gratitude and no longer openly resisting him, Wilson seemed almost normal most of the time – aside from the fact that he was keeping his best friend chained to a bed in a soundproofed room, of course. He would talk to House about amusing things that happened during his workday, or interesting bits of news he’d picked up here and there, and House realized with dismay that he was eagerly drinking in every scrap of stimulation he was missing during the greater parts of his days he spent in agonizing solitude.

He knew very well the sort of toll that this level of isolation and sensory deprivation could take on a person’s mind; and he knew that if he stayed here much longer, with no one for company but Wilson, his every physical and emotional need met only by Wilson – he was at very high risk of developing Stockholm syndrome.

Which is probably what he’s hoping for. He went to medical school, too. He knows that if he can keep me here long enough, he can convince me that I don’t really want to leave – and in his twisted up mind, he probably thinks that’s a good thing… because I’ll be happy with nothing more than this, and he can keep me “safe”…

A shiver went down House’s spine at the horrific prospect of actually falling prey to such a mindset.

Can’t let it happen. Can’t let him do this to me. Have to get out of here – now!

Exactly a week into his captivity – House got his chance.

Wilson came home from work and unchained House’s wrist from the wall, then went through the usual routine of cuffing his hands behind his back, blindfolding him, and helping him to use the bathroom. House found it particularly disturbing how this routine didn’t seem quite so humiliating as it had at first.

Doesn’t matter… Won’t be here much longer…

House’s treasured scrap of broken glass had survived daily transfers between sets of clothing, during the brief times Wilson allowed him to be alone to bathe and change clothes. House would carry the makeshift weapon into the bathroom in the clothes he was wearing, then transfer it to the clean set before Wilson returned. It made him feel a little safer, a little more positive about this horrible situation, just to know that it was always on his person, always ready and close at hand.

All he was waiting for was the opportunity to use it.

When Wilson led him back to the bed, House remained passive as he removed the blindfold and uncuffed his wrists. He did not resist as Wilson raised his right hand toward the shackles attached to the wall.

Just before fastening the restraint around his wrist… Wilson stopped.

House looked up at him with innocent curiosity, his heart rate accelerating with anticipation when he saw the indecisive frown that creased Wilson’s brow. When Wilson met his eyes with a scrutinizing stare, House did not look away, wanting to appear as guileless and cooperative as possible. Wilson was quiet for a moment, considering, before he spoke in a soft, measured voice that was unsettlingly calm.

“You’ve been here a week now, House.”

“Really?” House’s voice was slightly hoarse, and he tried to sound genuinely surprised. “That long?”

“Yeah.” Wilson was quiet for a moment before observing, “And… most of that time… you’ve been really good. Really cooperative.”

“I’ve… tried to be,” House agreed with a cautious nod.

“I don’t want to keep you chained up forever, House,” Wilson confessed with regret in his voice. “I want for us to get past that. I… I think maybe… we might be getting there, you know?”

House nodded again, slowly, trying not to appear overly eager. “I… I hope so.”

Wilson hesitated a moment before letting out a short sigh. “I’m going to give you a chance,” he decided. “One more step – one more chance to prove I can trust you. All right?”

House bit his lip anxiously, still nodding as he said in a soft, submissive voice, “Okay…”

“I’m going to go make us something to eat,” Wilson explained. “And… in the mean time… I’m not going to chain you back up. The door will be locked of course, and there’s no way to open it from the inside when it’s locked… but while I’m gone, you’ll have the chance to move around a little… stretch your legs… just… get out of that same boring position for a little while, you know?”

House’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I know,” he echoed heavily.

I really, really know…

He hesitated a moment before looking up to meet Wilson’s eyes again and adding, “Thank you.”

Wilson shrugged dismissively as he turned and scanned the room with a critical eye, picking up House’s cane from where it had rested for the past week, leaned up against the desk across the room. He gave House an apologetic grimace, holding it up as he headed for the door.

“Don’t trust you quite that much yet,” he admitted, though he softened the words with a warm smile. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

As soon as Wilson had closed the door behind him, House rose from the bed, immediately launching into a hurried search of the room for any potential weapon that might have a bit better chance of success than the inch-long piece of glass he had been hoarding.

Unfortunately, Wilson had been very careful.

The bed itself was bolted to the floor, as were the desk and dresser. The drawers on each were fastened so that they would not come all the way out. House found nothing in any of the drawers but clothing, papers and other soft, pliable items not at all suitable for use as makeshift weapons – nothing even as sharp as a pencil.

House momentarily considered a couple of the books Wilson had brought him to read – heavy medical volumes which would probably do just as well at rendering someone in need of medical care as they did at telling someone how to administer said care. House gave the largest one an experimental swing, grimacing when the effort put a bit too much weight on his bad leg, throwing him slightly off balance in his effort to compensate.

No… can’t take that chance…

He would have preferred not to have to actually draw blood, as in spite of everything, he didn’t really want to do Wilson any serious harm. He regretted the fact that there was no weapon at his disposal to deliver a quick blow to the head, something that would leave Wilson unconscious, but no worse for wear upon waking.

No… his piece of broken glass would have to do.

House waited in tense silence for Wilson to return, mentally preparing himself to strike as he paced slowly back and forth across the room, enjoying the exercise after so long confined to one spot. He imagined the way Wilson would enter the room, his hands most likely occupied with a tray containing the food he had prepared. House knew he would likely only have one chance to strike – and it would be in that moment while both of Wilson’s hands were otherwise occupied, before he had the opportunity to lock the door again.

The instant in which House heard the door open seemed to linger for minutes – and yet, everything began to feel very fast and hurried, as House allowed sheer survival instinct to take over.

“Hungry?”

Wilson was cheerful, smiling, utterly unsuspecting as he entered the room – and House supposed that that was as much a sign of his mental imbalance as anything else he had done thus far. Wilson wanted so badly for things to be normal and good between them again, he had allowed himself to be deceived into thinking they were – had even taken an active hand in his own deception.

The word was barely out of Wilson’s mouth when House struck, lashing out with the glass and bringing it down across Wilson’s left wrist.

Wilson let out a shocked cry of pain and fear, as the tray clattered to the floor, food and liquid and dishes scattering everywhere. Instinctively, Wilson grabbed at his slashed wrist, blood spurting between his trembling fingers even as he struggled to ebb its flow.

Just one… House reminded himself as he immediately headed for the door. That way he’ll have time to get help before he comes anywhere near bleeding to death… He’ll be fine… Just have to get out of here, now!

TBC...